Blood Ain't Nothing but a Thing
by newyorktopaloalto
Summary: A collection of one-shots about the paternal/brotherly relationship between Skittery and Tumbler. 1899; gen.
1. Matthew Was Six Years Old

A/N: A piece I wrote a few months ago for the secret santa that I was in. Personally, I think it's cute, but I'm also biased.

Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own.

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><p>Matthew Sheppard was six-years-old when he was brought to the lodging house. His parents were moving to Pennsylvania or somewhere close to there, and they didn't want to take him with them. At least until they could get good jobs there, or something. So instead, they sent him to the newsboy's lodging house and told him to stay there until they came back for him. He wasn't hopeful.<p>

The first night he was there, no matter how much he didn't want to— he started to cry. It was mostly silent, him stifling cries into his pillow as the other boys slept.

He heard a thump near his bed and a weight shifting itself towards him.

"What're you cryin' about?" came a voice.

Matthew looked up and wiped at his eyes, trying to see who the older boy was in the darkness.

"My parents left me here and I don't think they're coming back," he whispered—or, tried to whisper, because as a six-year-old, the lesson of 'covert' hadn't been drilled into him yet.

The figure seemed to shake its head and picked him up, gently taking him out of the bunkroom and carrying him onto the landing. Once they were there and sitting down, the figure placed Matthew onto his lap— facing him.

"Well, then we can be your family," he stated quietly, smiling a little at Matthew.

"I'm Jacob, by the way. Everyone calls me Skittery, though."

"Matthew," he stated quietly and shyly, voice paradoxically lower, now that they were out of the room.

"Okay, Matthew, I'll be your family. How old are you, by the way?"

"Six," Matthew replied, holding up his corresponding fingers.

"I'm 14," Jacob—Skittery replied.

"Now," he continued, hugging Matthew gently, "we need to get you a nickname. It may take a few days, but it _will _happen. And if you want to, you can sell with me. Okay?"

Matthew nodded and hugged Skittery tightly. Skittery would make a good family, Matthew knew that for sure.

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><p>Matthew Sheppard (known as Tumbler now) was seven-years-old when he noticed that his older brother— not by blood, but close enough, was starting to get sad.<p>

"What's wrong?" he asked one night, climbing into Skittery's bunk.

He had seen the older boy's shoulders shaking when he instinctively looked to Skittery's bunk when he had woken up from a nightmare, and wanted to see what was wrong.

"Nothin," Skittery mumbled, feebly trying to fend off the inquisitive seven-year-old.

"Somethin' is," Matthew (Tumbler, he reminded himself) replied.

Skittery looked up and hugged Matthew (Tumbler) tightly, in lieu of an answer.

"You're my family," he whispered to the boy, kissing the top of his head and not even flushing at his own display.

Matthew (Tumbler) was irrationally happy at Skittery saying that, and nodded happily, clinging to the older boy.

He ended up sleeping with Skittery that night, and when the other boys questioned him, before Skittery could answer, Matthew (Tumbler) replied that he had a nightmare, and Skittery always made him feel better. Which, while true, wasn't the main reason.

Skittery smiling at him in thanks made his heart swell up in pride. He had a brother.

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><p>Tumbler was eight-years-old when the strike happened. Though everyone seemed happy most of the time, not selling papers put a strain on most of the kids.<p>

One day, when Tumbler was out of saved and 'found on the street' pennies, Skittery handed him six cents for the night.

"I'll be in late," Skittery muttered, "so don't bother staying up for me, okay, kid?"

Tumbler nodded and hugged Skittery quickly, running off to the lodging house and settling down to sleep.

However, with Skittery not coming in until late, Tumbler couldn't sleep as well. So every hour or so he woke up, until Kloppman came up, and never saw Skittery.

Running to the statue, he noticed Skittery standing there, half a cigarette in his mouth.

"You didn't come in last night," he stated, marching up to Skittery and ignoring the older boys' glances to him and his brother.

"Nope," Skittery replied, "I got in too late, kid. Kloppman wouldn't let me in."

Tumbler nodded, accepting this answer, and started playing with the other kids.

He started listening to the older boys, however, when Racetrack got a scolding tone.

"I woulda paid for you, Skittery," he admonished.

"It's fine. I don't want nobody payin' for me," Skittery replied, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and grinding it out with the heel of his boot.

"Still, though. A lot of guys are resorting to desperate measures, you know? I don't wanna see one'a my friends get hurt."

Tumbler saw Skittery shake his head and wave Racetrack off with an 'it's fine.'

It took him a couple of minutes, but when he figured out what Skittery had done for him, he strode up to the older boy and crossed his arms against his chest.

"You didn't sleep at the lodging house last night because of me, didn't you?" he asked, stating it instead of asking.

"I didn't want you on the streets," Skittery replied, not bothering to deny it this time.

"Things are getting rough, kid, and I didn't want you to have to try and deal with it."

He ruffled Tumbler's hair and hugged him quickly.

"Don't worry about it, okay?"

Reluctantly, Tumbler nodded, and went off to play with his friends once more.

He had someone that loved him, and who he loved back. Gasping and running back to Skittery, Tumbler hugged him once more.

"I love you," he mumbled into Skittery's chest, clinging for another second before letting go.

"I love you too, kid," he heard being whispered back.

He smiled for the rest of the day.


	2. A Hard Night's Work

"Hey, hey, hey, Skittery!"

It was Tumbler, of course. Skittery rolled over and pulled the thin cover over his head, trying to bury his face into his pillow.

"Skittery!" Tumbler whispered again, poking at Skittery's arm.

"What?" Skittery groused softly, not wanting to wake the boys up.

Tumbler was silent for a minute, and Skittery was actually afraid that he had scared the younger boy off or something.

"What?" he asked, voice softer, poking his head out from under the blankets.

"I had a bad dream," Tumbler admitted, playing with his fingers and not looking anywhere but his own lap.

Skittery blinked, tilted his head, and blinked once more. Oh. Immediately, he opened up the blanket and gestured for Tumbler to join him. Thank God, Tumbler did, uncaring of how 'little boy' it must have seemed to him.

"You know that nothing's gonna happen, right?" Skittery asked rhetorically, pulling Tumbler closer to him and gently petting the little boy's hair.

"You don't know that," Tumbler mumbled, burying himself into Skittery's chest and holding onto his long-johns with an intensity Skittery didn't know an eight-year-old could ever have.

"Well, how about you tell me, and I'll say it can't happen," he conceded, still petting Tumbler's hair.

"You died," Tumbler muttered, sniffling the slightest bit and wiping his face on Skittery's chest.

"You died and I couldn't do nothin' to stop it. And I was just watchin' you, and I couldn't help and it was terrible."

By the end of his explanation, Tumbler's voice took on a soft wail, knowing that he had to keep silent, but finding it hard to. Skittery hushed him gently, rocking him gently back and forth, and generally not knowing how to calm a distraught child.

"It'll be okay, kid," he murmured, lips unconsciously pressing against Tumbler's hair, "I won't die, Tumbler, promise. It'll be okay."

He knew he couldn't keep that promise— after all, everyone died at some point, but he also knew that saying so would only distress Tumbler more.

The boy, however, just kept crying, valiantly trying to stifle his cries into Skittery's chest (probably not wanting Skittery to know about his sobs— which was moot as Skittery could feel the wetness seeping into his long-johns.)

After a few minutes of Tumbler not calming down and Skittery ineffectively trying to soothe him, Skittery knew that he had to take on a new approach.

"Matthew," he said seriously, making Tumbler look up at him, "Matthew, everything will be alright. I promise you that, Matthew."

And with that, he wiped away the tears that were slowly drying on Tumbler's face, kissed the little boy's cheek hesitantly, and cuddled him closer to his warm body.

Tumbler fell asleep almost immediately afterwards, and Skittery watched after him, afraid that the little boy was going to have another nightmare. It was a good thing he did, because Tumbler woke up every hour or so, trying not to cry and holding onto the older boy tightly.

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><p>By the time morning came, both Tumbler and Skittery were exhausted, neither of them having had a good night's sleep.<p>

"You look like hell, Skitts," Race said, clapping his shoulder on the way into the communal restroom.

"Long story," Skittery replied, yawning and starting to shave.

He didn't want to say anything, especially if Tumbler wasn't going to. Speaking of…

Skittery winked over at Tumbler, who smiled thankfully and nodded, going back to washing up. Smiling slightly at nothing, Skittery hummed gently as he continued shaving and getting ready for the day.

Maybe being part of a family wasn't going to be so bad. Skittery could definitely find himself liking this new, 'parental,' role.

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><p>"Why a long story?" he heard Race ask, almost incessantly during their walk towards the distribution center.<p>

Skittery just smiled and shrugged, catching up to Tumbler and hauling the boy onto his shoulders. Yeah, Skittery wouldn't mind this at all.


End file.
